The Mirror
by ellamalfoy8
Summary: A collection of drabbles about what assorted HP characters see in the Mirror of Erised. Many pairings, slight angst.
1. Tom

**A/N: Inspired by a drabble contest I stumbled upon, I wrote a oneshot about what Voldemort would see if he looked into the Mirror of Erised. Then, I realized how fun it would be to do a piece about what every character would see. So, The Mirror was born. I won't update very often, only when inspiration strikes, but here it is.**

**This chapter is, quite obviously, Tom. Marvel, and review.**

**Summary:** _A collection of drabbles about what assorted HP characters see in the Mirror of Erised._

**Disclaimer: All characters in these chapters belong to JK Rowling.**

**0ooo0**

**Tom**

Unreachable, that's what it was. Untouchable. He could never have it, that was the honest truth. He hated it, and what it stood for. He hated what feelings it triggered in him, the doubt and regret that he had to pretend didn't exist. He hated the mere idea that he wasn't as strong as he wanted people to believe, and he hated the fact that he had to hate it at all.

It should have shown fire, or darkness, or him standing tall on a pile of rubble that Hogwarts would hopefully someday be reduced to. Perhaps he would be holding Potter's bloody head, his long skeletal fingers gripping the boy's dark hair. Or maybe it would show the mangled body of Albus Dumbledore, burnt and bent at odd angles. It should have been anything other than what it was, anything other than the honesty that he didn't want to face.

Voldemort skimmed his fingernail along the cool glass of the mirror, breathing slowly through the slits that he could hardly call his nostrils. He didn't want to face it, but here he was again, staring longingly at the secret that everyone wished to know.

It was him, natural and not disfigured by a serpent face or red eyes. His hair was wavy and cut to the tips of his ears, dark and slightly streaked with gray stripes. He was smiling, comfortably and happily, for reasons that were not death or destruction. He was wearing plain gray robes, not the wispy black cloaks that he always used to cover his pale body now, over tan trousers and a white, button down shirt.

His arm was around a tall woman, who always changed each time he peered into the mirror, but for now was a brunette. She was grinning, sending loving looks at her husband every few minutes, her face round and warm. She laughed at something he whispered in her ear. Joyful. Peaceful. Very much alive.

At their feet was a little girl, his daughter. She had his dark hair, slightly curly and below her shoulders. Her dress was blue, with little green bows along the bottom of the skirt and along its collar. She was innocent, with her mother's blue eyes and features, although she had his nose. She cradled a small doll, and, like her parents, was the picture of happiness.

There was nothing wrong with this picture, so like a family portrait. They were loving, they were happy, and they were undisturbed by any war. The Riddles.

But they are not real, he reminded himself. He was not a father, or a husband. He was the Dark Lord. He had no time for such a trivial life.

And yet whenever he looked into the Mirror of Erised, he saw this. It would never change. An annoyance, true, but proof that he was human.

And he hated it.


	2. Harry

**A/N: New drabble. Harry this time, since he seemed easiest. I'm plotting Hermione, but I don't have a draft ready yet. Anyway, I'm glad so many of you read the first chapter!**

**Summary:** _A collection of drabbles about what assorted HP characters see in the Mirror of Erised._

**Disclaimer: All characters in these chapters belong to JK Rowling.**

**0ooo0ooo0**

**Chapter 2: Harry**

He didn't notice it at first. It was subtle, and he was busy looking for his family in the glass panes. Where was his father, noble and tall? Where was his mother, loving and happy?

But it was just him in the mirror, all on his own. Not even with Ginny by his side. Was it broken? No. It had just changed. He hadn't even realized that was _possible_.

He blinked at himself, a little irritated. He did not need this right now. He was looking for ways to defeat Voldemort for he had little over a half hour, he was stressed, and he really wished he could go to Ginny for comfort. That wasn't an option. Voldemort prevented it.

He blew his hair out of his eyes, mussing his fingers into the dark curls. That was when he realized it. His forehead, it was blank. Unbroken by any thing, just skin. Just normal, clear, uninterrupted skin. No scar.

No scar.

He was normal.

Normal. But only normal in the glass of the mirror.

But he had to turn away from the mirror, as it was _time_.

**0ooo0ooo0**

**A/N: So, you like? And if it wasn't clear enough, by '**_time'_** I meant time for the final battle. **

**I'm working on chapter 18 of Magnetic Attraction, so that will probably be up faster than last time, and will be longer. Yay!**

**Final Word Count: 187**


	3. Hermione

**A/N: I'm bored. I figured I'd write another one.**

**Summary:** _A collection of drabbles about what assorted HP characters see in the Mirror of Erised._

**Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to JK Rowling.**

**0ooo0ooo0ooo0**

**Chapter 3: Hermione**

She had stumbled across the mirror by accident upon helping Headmistress McGonagall clean out the late Albus Dumbledore's chambers at Hogwarts after his death. She was sorting through a closet, boxing old robes and assorted odds and ends that the past headmaster had collected in the years and stuffed away. It had been against the wall, covered in a plain white bed sheet, looking remarkably pitiful among the assorted things left behind. Curious, she had tugged on the corner of the sheet and let it fall away to reveal the mirror.

It seemed like an ordinary mirror at first. She had stared at her reflection in disappointment, confronted with the scars and nicks collected in the final battle. A burn had gnarled the upper left side of her face, making her resemble a more attractive, younger female version of Mad Eye Moody. She was just about to turn away in disgust when she noticed something fairly peculiar. Her reflection was smiling. No, her reflection was _smirking_.

She gulped, confused. Was it a trick? An enchantment? It had to be! As she frowned nervously at her own face, she realized that her reflection was changing as well. The glassy trick face was smoothing over, losing its crooked disfigurement to grow beautiful and calm. There were no purple rings under her eyes, no cuts across her lips. Her posture was not slumped but instead proud. This was not herself. It was a stranger.

No. It was _her_.

But she was wearing dark black robes, wispy and expensive. Ostentatious. The setting in which her reflection was standing was dark and murky, with vague shapes in black skulking around behind her. But despite the darkness, Hermione recognized it. It was Voldemort's fortress.

"No," Hermione choked out, backing away. She threw the sheet over the mirror but the image was burned in her memory. _Respected. Powerful. Pureblooded._

She knew it was the Mirror of Erised subconsciously but refused to accept it even when Harry told her so.


End file.
